


scones

by moth_writes



Series: smiling fate [22]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baking, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Fluff, M/M, Minor Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Post-Canon, Simon/Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28111188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth_writes/pseuds/moth_writes
Summary: Simon tries making sour cherry scones....Baz gets the recipe for sour cherry scones from Cook Pritchard the last week before graduation....The scones dissolve in my mouth. They taste almost exactly like I remember-I think I should’ve put in more vanilla extract, or maybe kneaded them more, but they’re perfect.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: smiling fate [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026844
Kudos: 25





	scones

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the Carry On Countdown Day 23: Cooking/Baking

SIMON   
  


Baz gets the recipe for sour cherry scones from Cook Pritchard the last week before graduation. 

He gives it to me, a piece of notebook paper rolled into a little tube and tied with a ribbon. I don’t even know where he got the ribbon-I went to school at Watford for years and I never saw a single one.

“Graduation present,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my cheek. (I have a mole there. He treats it like a target.)(I love it.) He’s the only person-living person-who’s ever kissed me anywhere but my mouth. 

“I’m not graduating,” I’d told him. Like he didn’t already know. He laughed-not at me. I’ve heard him laugh at me too many times to mistake it for that.

“No,” he replied. Smoothly, always so smooth. “But I wanted to. You love those scones, Simon.”

I kissed him then, right there in front of everybody. He said it like it was so simple, like it was obvious he’d do it. Like the only natural thing to do was surprise your (terrible) boyfriend with the recipe to his favorite scones at your graduation.

“I don’t know how to bake,” I’d whispered after we broke apart. He smiled his terrible little smile.

“Guess you’ll have to learn, Simon.”

…

I rinse the clumps of batter off my hands and curse the cold water.

I work at a bakery now, have since we got back from America and solved that whole shitshow. It seemed obvious at the time, after Penny suggested it.

My favorite bakery was hiring. I applied, and two days later I had a job.

I still haven’t tried Cook Pritchard’s recipe yet. I didn’t have the motivation to, at first, and then I was too busy.

I miss those scones. I have a list of all the things I miss most about Watford-my therapist said it would help, I make a list and we work on it-and sour cherry scones are number three, right under  _ magic _ and  _ our room _ .

I can’t do much about my magic, so we’ve been working on accepting my wings and tail instead. There’s still days I can’t stand to look at them, but they’re few and farther now.

And our room-Baz and I solved that one when we moved in together. I missed being able to see him anytime I wanted, to roll over in the middle of the night and watch him breathe after a nightmare. And his magic, too, just the presence of it. Penny’s is nice, but it’s not the same.

It’s like, you drink the same kind of tea every day for years. And then you switch to another kind, and it’s still nice and all, but you’ll always miss the kind you had every day for eight years.

It doesn’t make much sense, but that’s the best way I found to phrase it.

Now is the scones.

I dug the recipe out yesterday and I got permission from my boss to stay late and try it. She said I could use whatever I needed and stay as long as I like as long as everything’s closed up right and she gets to taste test it tomorrow.

She reminds me of Ebb sometimes. Soft, kind, and always with a fuzzy jumper.

I don’t think about that. The wound’s still too raw in my mind.

I shape the dough out carefully. Cook Pritchard’s recipe says to just make triangles and it’ll rise on it’s own, but I’m not sure about that so I make them a little bit bigger.

The oven finished preheating a while ago, so I slip them in and check the time. 

I do the maths and set an alarm for five minutes before, just in case.

Then I text Baz. 

SIMON (6:41): what are u doing

BAZ (6:43): Arguing with Mordelia.

BAZ (6:43): She cut her hair to her ears and got her nose pierced.

I frown at my phone. Mordelia comes to stay with us often-she’s fifteen now, and Baz is like her Fiona-but she’s never done something so drastic.

SIMON (6:44): can i call?

I watch the little words change from delivered to read and my phone lights up. Baz’s name flashes up on my screen, accompanied by his ringtone (Mordelia changed all of them from the default a few months ago-Baz’s is the opening song to _Twilight_. I thought it was funny, so I kept it.)(Baz rolls his eyes every time he hears it, though. I was worried at first it would hurt him, but he’s settled into being a vampire a lot more since he learned how to control his fangs. He’ll eat with us and he even makes jokes.)

I swipe accept and hold the phone to my ear.

Baz’s voice comes through immediately. “She’s barricaded in our bathroom, Simon.”

I frown. “Oh. Is she...okay?”

“I think so. No major damage, and she had the sense to go to a professional tattoo and piercings parlor for the nose ring-Crowley knows how she got them to do it.”

I laugh and then wince. I don’t know if I’m allowed to laugh at this. “She’s definitely your sister, Baz. The dramatics all check out.”

“They do,” he sighs. “I don’t know whether to be proud or horrified.”

“Does your father know?”

“Yes. He and Daphne sent her here, actually. Apparently her girlfriend broke up with her, and they thought since I’m closer to her age I could help her through it.”

“And the piercing? The hair? And you’ve never had a breakup, Baz.” I pause, and then add, “Wait, she had a girlfriend? But she’s so young!”

“You had a girlfriend at fifteen, Simon.” Baz reminds me. “And they aren’t mad about it. Father was baffled-he's never broken up with anyone, or been broken up with-but Daphne understands.”

“Oh,” I say. I check the time-fifteen minutes before the scones come out.

Baz hums. “How goes baking, love?”

“Batch number two, this time with sugar. I’ve got fifteen minutes left before they’re done.”

“Sounds good. Bring some home for me.”

“Of course.”

We’re silent a moment, then Baz asks quietly “Can you stay at Penny’s tonight? I know you have work tomorrow, and Mordy and I are going to stay up all night and binge bad movies and ice cream.”

I hum. “I’ll call.”

“Okay.”

We stay on the line in silence. I listen to him breathe and watch the second tick by.

“Bye, love.” I say softly. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Simon.”

I hang up and slip the phone back into my pocket.

I have five minutes left until the alarm rings, so I tidy up a bit. I finish the kitchen quickly-cleaning up after yourself in a busy kitchen is essential, and I learned fast.

The seating area has already been cleaned up and the chairs are all on the tables. I sweep again and wipe down the display cases. It’s soothing, sort of. Progress I can see, and all that.

My therapist says it’s normal. I’m trying to believe her about things like this.

My alarms rings. I dismiss it and go to check the scones.

They’re fully cooked, but not golden brown the way I remember. I think I made them too big-I should've listened to the recipe when it said they would rise on their own. I decide to leave them for another five, ten minutes.

I sit on the counter and lean back. I’m tired, that bone-deep satisfying tired that comes from working.

I text Penny. She replies quickly and I hit call.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi,” I say.

“What’s going on?” 

“Mordelia’s having a breakup crisis and she’s at our flat.”

“Ooh.” I hear her wince through the phone. “Rough. You want to crash with me? Shepard’s out stalking some rat cryptid tonight.”

I laugh. That does sound like something Shep would do. “Doctor Who?” I ask.

"Yeah. I’ll order takeaway. Your usual?”

I hum agreement and she hangs up. I missed having nights with Penny. We couldn’t do any for a while between eighth year and America, but we’ve gotten back into the habit after she moved out. 

I check the scones again and they look done. I pull them out and set them on a cooling rack.

I’m too impatient to wait, so I grab the butter and slather some on immediately. It melts into the scones and I’m almost drooling. 

I burn my tongue on the first bite but I don’t care. I devour one scone and I’m half through a second before I slow down.

The scones dissolve in my mouth. They taste almost exactly like I remember-I think I should’ve put in more vanilla extract, or maybe kneaded them more, but they’re _perfect_.

I laugh and pump my fist in the air. 

_ Yes. _

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know anything about baking dont take any of that seriously (do you kneed scones? i have no clue)
> 
> More Mordelia, because I love her.
> 
> I...may have forgotten i put two days into my drafts and posted the first one listed
> 
> (i'm gonna change the date on the last one (next one?) and pretend i did it right.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
